Dark Magic

My work as a paramedic has led me down strange roads. And the care I’ve provided has caused me to think differently about modern medicine. Don’t get me wrong, I still believe in modern medicinal treatments. But if I was some kind of plague doctor in the Early Middle Ages, my type of patient care would probably get me burned at the stake, or maybe drowned, or both. I hear that was pretty popular.

For example, I was treating a patient many, many years ago. As part of this person’s treatment, I administered a very strong medication with a psychoactive and hallucinogenic affect. It’s not a medication used often; it can be an addictive-controlled substance. And to be honest with you, I didn’t use it very often. But as I injected the medicine into the patient’s IV port, the patient’s eyes jittered for a while, he paused like a possessed mannequin, and time (for him at least for him) stopped. After a few moments, the patient began to move like a toy being rewound. He eventually looked at me with a shocked look on his face.

“How do you feel,” I asked.

With a wild look in his eyes he said, “It feels like you pulled my soul through the back of my head.”

If that wouldn’t get me gullied in the market square back in A.D. 850, what would?

As a general rule, I personally try to stay away from most medication. But I didn’t feel like I had a choice at the Haneda airport in Tokyo. We had just finished a great visit to Japan, one of our favorite places. My wife was leaving for the States soon. But my flight on to Malaysia to visit a college friend would leave two hours later. I had worked a 12-hour night shift that culminated in climbing onto a 13-hour flight to Tokyo. We had a whirlwind trip of excellent food and great experiences.

But I was tired. And I still had 10 more days in Malaysia.

Between all the traveling and the endless nights of work as a paramedic, sleep isn’t exactly something I get often.

After I got my wife to her gate and kissed goodbye, I wandered the airport in search of some coffee and then, I saw it—a small pharmacy nudged in the upstairs of the airport. It looked like a place most Americans wouldn’t go. Perfect.

My eyes scanned the shelves for something to help me sleep on my forthcoming 8-hour red-eye. And then I saw it.

The box had a little crescent moon and a tiny person sleeping on a bed with a line of “Zzzzzzz” floating from his head.

Being medically minded and endlessly curious, I got out the ‘Ol Google Translate and went to work on the ingredients list.

And Lo, listed before my eyes, were two ingredients made directly from Barbiturates—that long lost sedative no longer in use in the US. But here in Japan, a guy can buy the proverbial good stuff.

I bought my packet and walked to my gate. Just prior to the flight, I popped one tablet (as recommended) and then an additional two Benadryl (as is entirely not recommended).

The next eight hours are a blur of slow-motion flight attendants and on/off sleeping in strange positions. Never have I produced so much saliva. But I will say this; the flight went pretty quick.

Dark magic indeed.

anthony forrest